


Panties? What Panties?

by fabulousanima



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: Comedy of Errors, F/M, First Time, Misunderstandings, Underwear
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-06
Updated: 2014-03-06
Packaged: 2018-01-14 17:25:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1274842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fabulousanima/pseuds/fabulousanima
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“What does it mean, in a strictly hypothetical sense, when a girl gives a guy her underwear?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Panties? What Panties?

Soul grips the edges of the sink, staring hard at his reflection in the grungy school mirror.  Focus.  Focus.  Focus.

_Shit_.

He turns the knobs of the faucet, and they squeak as cold water splashes down into his cupped hands.  He washes his face, scrubbing hard.   _Focus_.  He is calm.  He _is_.

He is _not_.  The thing in his pocket, so light and flimsy, feels like dead weight, dragging him down.

And this morning had been going so well too.  He had been minding his own business, sitting in a weapons-only class, smirking down at Spirit, who was lecturing.  His feet were on the desk and his arms were behind his head, pointedly not taking notes.  The elder scythe kept shooting glares his way, but Soul was pleased that he was pissing the old man off.  Spirit had been caught, yet again, with another woman, which had resulted in, yet again, a shouting match with Maka over the phone, who took it out on her own weapon in the form of a four mile run to “sweat the jerkass away”.  His calves were _killing him_ , and every twitch of Spirit’s eyebrows felt like payback.

It had only been at Spirit’s insistence through gritted teeth that _everything he was saying at the moment would most definitely be on the test and anyone who wanted to pass and impress their meisters who might not look kindly on weapons with bad grades really should start taking some notes_ that Soul had rolled his eyes and shoved his hands into his pocket looking for a pen.

Instead, his fingers close around something soft. What the--?

Soul glances down and pulls the unknown object partway out of his pocket.  He lets out a strangled gasp and scrambles to his feet, chair legs protesting against the tiled floor.  On his left, Tsubaki turns to him, startled.  She gives him a quizzical look as he stiffens, red in the face.

“Bathroom!” he all but shouted, pounding down the steps and past a spluttering Spirit.  He ignored the curious gazes on his back; the incriminating object burning a hole in his pocket was the only thing on his mind.

Because _shit_.

It was a pair of pink panties, and they definitely belonged to his partner. They were sheer, with black lace trim, and he could tell even with them lying crumpled in his palm that they would cut across her cheeks in the most delicious way he was definitely not thinking about right now.   _When had she started wearing such sexy underwear?_

He wouldn’t know.  Soul does catch occasional snatches of it during battle, when she is twirling around flashing her panties for any enemy to see (though admittedly she kills them all soon afterwards, so it’s not really like anyone but him lives to tell the tale).  He also hasn’t done laundry in, what, two years?  It was a stupid chore, and Maka was so _particular_ (who knew skirts couldn’t just get thrown in with everything else? she never let him live it down) that they finally agreed that she would take care of the laundry and he would take care of taking out the trash (which on occasion included some of Blair’s overnight houseguests).  Maka didn’t like the smell, Soul didn’t like the folding; it was a great compromise.

But evidently, he had missed a development or two.

What bothered him even more than their sexiness was what they implied. _What the hell did it mean when a girl gave you her panties?_

Could it mean --?

Soul breathes in hard through his nose.  He has to wrap his head around this.  Had she done anything this week that might give him a hint?

Yesterday: Maka had hip checked him lightly when they were cooking dinner, looking up at him through her lashes with a playful grin.  She had been wearing those jean shorts that always made him a little light-headed; it was oppressively hot, and her bare feet were leaving small impressions of condensation wherever she stepped.  The spoon he had been using to stir the sauce ended up in her mouth, despite his half-hearted protests of how “gross” she was.

Tuesday: Maka had thrown her long legs over his while they played video games.  They were resting on the couch, racing against each other and trying to run as many computer players off the road as possible.  Maka had leaned into the pillows and flung her legs out so nonchalantly it was as if she didn't realize they were firm and smooth and basically made of sexy.  She had wiggled her toes whenever she won.  He had definitely not noticed.

Sunday: Soul had been walking out of the bathroom after taking a shower when Maka smacked into him.  She put both her hands up against his wet chest to steady herself, a startled gasp escaping her lips.  "Oh, _jeez,_ Soul, you scared me, I thought you were in your room," she had said, putting one of her hands to her own chest.  But the other stayed glued to his skin, and he noticed that her fingers began to trace tiny circles for only a moment before she pulled away.  Maka had given him a sidelong glance as she stepped around him, eyes roving across his body surreptitiously as she closed the door behind her.  He felt like he needed to shower all over again.

Okay.  Okay.  So all that added up to…?

* * *

Unsurprisingly, Soul finds it very hard to concentrate in class for the rest of the day.  Spirit shoots him a scathing look when he returns, but Soul merely climbs the steps to slide bonelessly into his desk.  He leans back in his chair, ignoring the curious gazes of his classmates, hand fisted in his pocket.  Soul watches dully as the elder Death Scythe lectures, but all he can think, over and over, is _I have your daughter’s panties in my pocket I have your daughter’s panties in my pocket I have--_

He has to figure this out.  He needs to know what this means.  Soul sweeps his gaze across the room.  His classmates are all in various states of listening.  Harvar sits a few rows away, hands clasped on the table as he watches Spirit with a bored expression on his face.  Jackie sits next to him, delicate hands flying across her perfectly aligned page as she takes notes.  Soul grimaces.  Neither of them.

Tsubaki keeps sending him sideways glances, looking vaguely concerned.  Her notebook is covered in neat handwriting, but she has doodled a dozen flowers in the margins.  Soul’s hand twitches toward his pocket, but he stifles the urge.  Moving on.

Patty sits directly in front of him.  Yeah _no_.

Liz is to her left, calmly filing her nails.  Bingo.

When the final bell rings, Soul bolts.  He doesn’t want to be cornered by any of his classmates.  Shoes slapping against the tiles in the halls, he scrambles to outrun the sounds of chairs scraping and papers rustling as the swelling murmur of relieved voices begins to echo through the school.  He bursts into the Nevada sunshine and skids to a stop.

Soul skulks in the shadows near the bottom of the long staircase, watching as his fellow weapons make their way home for the weekend.  He manages to avoid Harvar (who had mentioned something about a basketball game this weekend) and narrowly dodges the twins as they chase each other through the courtyard, but when he finally spots his victim, he pounces.

“Liz!” he shouts, jumping out in front of her.  She places a well-manicured hand over her heart.

“Soul, what the hell--”

“I have to ask you something.”

“What?”

Soul suddenly feels like an idiot.  How the _hell_ is he supposed to explain this without saying what was going on?

“Uh.  First, uh, how was your day?”

She eyes him as if he had sprouted another head.  “We had classes all day together.  You know exactly how my day has been.”

“Right, yeah.”  Shit.  “Uh, do you and Kid and Patty have any big plans this weekend?”

“Isn’t there a basketball game--”

“Oh yeah, I meant aside from that.”

“I don’t know, what is this about?” she asks shrewdly.

“I’m just curious, yeesh.”

“You’ve been acting so weird to--”

“But I do have a real question.  That I need to ask you.”

Liz gives him a look but gestures for him to keep going.

“What does it mean, in a strictly hypothetical sense, when a girl gives a guy her underwear?”

He continues before her face can even make it all the way to astonished.

“Maka and I were, uh, watching a movie last night.  The girl gave the guy her underwear, and I, uh, didn’t understand the implication and I didn’t wanna ask Maka because she would have been all weirdly scientific about it and that’s pretty uncool--”  He clenches his jaw shut.  No rambling, no rambling.

Years of growing up on the streets of Brooklyn had given Liz mastery of a completely blank expression -- Soul had lost enough quarters to her in poker to be very familiar with it -- and she wore it now.  Soul feels himself grow hot around the collar, this isn’t smooth at all, she would surely--

“Oh!  Of course, Soul.”

\--fall for it, _yes._

Liz smiles fondly.  “Maka might have been weird about it, yeah, though I’m sure she would have known about it.  Oldest trick in the book.”

“Really?”

“Really.  Giving a guy your panties is a clear way of saying ‘come return these the _right_ way.’”

“Uh--”

“It’s an open invitation for a steamy night together.  Any girl who gives a guy her panties wants to have sex with him.  I’m sure Maka would have told you that, though she might have had a whole conversation about the history of lace on underwear, or something, I dunno.”

Soul’s head feels as if it were filled with helium.  “Oh.  I--”

“I’m sure that happened in the movie, right?  They eventually had sex?”

He blinks.  “Yeah!” he gulps, mentally slapping himself.  “Yeah, it did.  Guess that, uh, explains it.”

“No problem!” Liz chirps.  “Now if you and Maka ever watch that movie again, you’ll know what it means.”

“Yeah.  Uh, I gotta get home.  Thanks Liz.”

“Have a fun weekend, Soul.”

* * *

Soul somehow stumbles onto his motorcycle and kicks off in a daze.  Had he been more aware of his surroundings, he might have looked over his shoulder, where he would have seen Patty approach her older sister with a questioning expression on her face.  He would have seen Liz murmur out of the side of her mouth, a wicked grin split across Patty’s features, and the two of them share a fist bump in the middle of the courtyard.

* * *

Dammit.  He had really hoped to play this cool, but he has barely put the key in the lock and he is already hard.  Shit.

Deep breath.  Soul leans his forehead against the smooth green paint of their front door, soothed slightly by the cool wood.  Whatever, _whatever_ , happened, he and Maka have to stay friends.  Partners.  That is the most important thing.  Whatever else, their friendship has to survive.

...But she _wants to have sex with him._

Does he want to have sex with her?  The answer is a resounding _um fuck yeah_.  For years now, Maka (and her crazy long legs) had been featuring prominently in very specific dreams of his and been the cause of plenty of accidental boners (see: right now).  And while Soul would pretty fucking happily obey her pantie summons, he can’t help but feel a little nervous.

Because-- what does that mean about how she _feels_?  Is this supposed to be a stress-relief screw?  A frivolous fuck?  A luscious love-making session?  (Note to self: never use word ‘luscious’ again.)  Because Soul would happily take all of the above (minus the ‘luscious,’ what was he thinking).

Soul isn’t sure how long he’d been in love with his meister, but he knows he is.  He’d barely noticed because it was so gradual, so incremental, and it just _was_.  It is no more notable than anything else, hey how was your day, are you done with the paper, please pass the salt, hey I love you.

He had been planning on telling her eventually.  It just wasn’t a big deal, so he hadn’t mentioned it.  (And okay, so his brain had done a decent job conjuring up the image of her horrified face if she didn’t like what she heard, but he knew it was probably an irrational fear.  Probably.)  But Soul had been planning on saying something at some point.

And then Maka gives him her _panties_.

Soul chuckles weakly against the door.  Leave it to his meister to take things into her own hands.

His stomach feels full of butterflies and he kinda wants to throw up.  This is _not_ how he imagined feeling before they had sex _at all._  Taking a deep breath, Soul turns the key and lets himself in, feeling his erection strain against his jeans as he moves into the apartment.

He is going to _talk_ to her and see where that leaves them.  He is going to ask her... about her panties in his pocket _fuck he was so screwed._

Maybe in more ways than one.

He lets his backpack slide to the floor and kicks off his shoes.  "Maka?" he calls, and his voice is a little hoarse.

"In here!" she calls.  Is she... _trying_ to sound sexy?

Soul pushes open her partially closed door and finds his meister lounging on her bed.  She is lying in the sunshine wearing a thin camisole and short cotton shorts, book in hand and back against her pillows.  She stretches like a cat as Soul flops onto the bed, feeling distinctly lightheaded as he watches her chest curve towards him.   _Shit shit shit shit--_

“How was class?”   She is obviously testing him, she _knows_ he had to have discovered her underwear.  But fine, if that’s the way she likes to play--

“Same old, same old,” he replies casually, picking at a thread on her comforter.  “Your old man droned on and on.”

Maka rolls her eyes, setting her book on her nightstand.  “I’m impressed he actually showed up for class and wasn’t out somewhere with his new girlfriend,” she says scathingly.  She gives Soul a small smile.  “I’m glad there’s a better Death Scythe now.”

There is no way on earth she can’t hear his heart pounding against his ribcage, trying to get out.  His mouth is suddenly dry.  “I made sure to give him a hard time.”

“What do you mean?”

“I barely paid attention.”  Because _the pink panties were kinda distracting_.

“Soul!”  She swats him on the chest.  “You are such a slacker.  You need to start taking more initiative.”  She gives him a pointed look.

Oh, _that’s_ what she wants.  Okay, he can do this, he can.

“Uh,” he says, cursing his sweaty palms.  “So are you, er, hot lying here in the sun?”  No no no that was _awful_ \--

“A little, that’s wh--”

“You look it,” Soul blurts out, leaning forward suddenly.  Their faces are only inches apart.

Maka meets his gaze through her eyelashes, suddenly still and mouth slightly agape.  “What?” she murmurs.

“You look… hot.  You look good.  Today.  Any day, really.  Maka.”

His hand rests on the comforter almost touching the smooth skin of her thigh.  He lets it slide closer, the fabric squeaking under the callouses of his skin.  Maka’s breathing hitches slightly.  Soul can’t look away from her lips.

“Soul,” she whispers, and he takes the initiative.

Whoa whoa WHOA.  Her lips are dry and a little cracked, and Soul thinks that all those stories and movies were wrong; he doesn’t feel sparks, he feels his world _tip_.  His stomach feels like it’s left for vacation, and his head is swirling.  No kiss he had had before (and admittedly there were not a lot) had given him such a rush.

He tilts his head more, and she follows suit, and he hears the crinkle of the comforter as she curls her fingers into fists.  Maka lets out a small murmur, just the tiniest of vibrations against the skin of his lips, but it sends a shiver of pleasure through him.   _This is happening_.

Soul lifts his hand from his lap and brings it tentatively against her jawline.  He had, at least, been _accurate_ in his stupid statement before: she _is_ overheated, her skin feeling sunburned under the gentle pads of his fingers.

Trying to adjust for a better angle, Soul shifts on the bed.  Maka doesn’t seem to expect it, and they bump noses a little painfully.  She giggles, moving her hands to her nose as if to touch it, but seems to decide on a better thing to do with them halfway through, and instead lightly grabs Soul’s face.  She studies his lips for a moment before angling her head and trying again.

He doesn’t know how long they kiss, but he does know that at the precise moment he feels her tongue probe lightly against his lips, his cock twitches in his jeans and he lets out a grunt even as he parts his lips to allow her entry.  She tastes a little cotton-mouthed, and he wonders if she had been napping before he had come in to suck her face.  In preparation for what came next?

Maka runs her tongue across the back of his front teeth and he leans into it, letting out an involuntary gasp.

“Sorry,” she whispers, pulling back.  “Are you--”

He bites her bottom lip and it’s her turn to gasp.  Soul breaks away to meet her gaze, hooded and dark.

“Did that hurt?”

“No,” she says, and suddenly her teeth are on his neck and his blood is pounding in his veins.  They are dull but she is eager, trailing them up and down his skin.  

They topple onto her pillows gracelessly; Maka hits her head on the headboard.  She shuffles awkwardly down until she is no longer scrunched against the bed, and smiles up at Soul sheepishly, who takes the opportunity to mark her neck in return.  He is careful with his teeth, but her breathy gasps belie only pleasure.

He feels a pressure on his shoulders and gives into it.  Maka guides him over her, draping over her body.  Soul’s feet hang off the edge of the bed and he notices himself wiggling his toes in the void.  Oops, oops, stop, that is so uncool.

Luckily Maka hasn’t noticed.  Her vice-like grip on his shoulders are invitation enough to keep ravishing her neck with his teeth.  Well, a good Weapon listens to his Meister.

It’s as he’s paying particular attention to her clavicle that she hooks her legs around the small of his back.  Soul realizes that this is the first time she has wrapped her legs around him when he isn’t a hard length of demonsteel (though he’s still a pretty hard length right now) and he actually stops what he’s doing and just _breathes_ against her skin like some sort of dog in the summer.

“What?” she asks breathlessly.

“You’re really hot.”

“We’ve established this,” she says, amusement evident in her voice.  She shifts under him slightly.  “But… you stopped.”

“Yeah I am not getting nearly enough oxygen to my brain right now.  At all.  I can keep kissing you if you’d like.”

“Would you… would you want…”  She seems suddenly shy.  Maka wriggles and he lifts himself up on his elbows. Sliding an arm down his shoulders, she fingers the strap of her cami and gives him another look.

“Oh.  _Y_ _es_.”

“Are you su--”

“ _Yes_.”  

Flushing at his eagerness, Maka slowly peels down the strap.  Soul suspects she’s trying to be sexy, but the way they are positioned causes her arm to get trapped only halfway down.  She scowls.

“Okay, whatever, you know-- _oh_.”  Soul takes over with excitement and pulls back the top of her shirt to reveal flushed skin ending in a pert nipple.

After years and years of thinking _way_ too much about these breasts, Soul finds himself suddenly brought up short when he meets them in person.  Her skin is splotchy with pleasure and there is a small freckle near the dark puckered skin.  For a moment, he wonders how on _earth_ she got enough sun exposure on her boob to manage to earn a freckle there, until he realizes that he is inches away from Maka’s bare breast and _all he is doing is thinking about a freckle_ , and so he corrects his mistake.

She slowly hisses through her teeth as Soul runs his tongue languidly against her skin.  He is even more careful with his teeth this time, but by the way she is moaning above him, he hazards a guess that she is indeed enjoying herself.  Speaking for himself, he is _kinda having the time of his life_.

His fingers worm their way into the other half of her shirt, and after struggling to free the other strap from Maka’s shoulder, Soul manages to run the pads of his fingertips across her other breast.  He is thoroughly enjoying himself.  The logical part of his brain (the one that seemed to speak in Maka’s voice) is saying that _really_ , _it was_ just _a breast_ , but luckily Maka’s actual voice is groaning his name, so he rolls his tongue around the hardened nub with relish.

“Wait,” she murmurs, and he comes up for air, lips plump with overuse.  “Are you… enjoying yourself too?”

“Um, _yes_?”

“Really?  Because I could…”

“Could what?”

In answer, Maka rolls her hips slightly, and Soul feels an increase in pressure against his erection.  He lets out a “ha- _ah_ ”.  She is staring at his face, a strange mixture of a smile and smirk on her lips.  

“Do you want me to?”

“Do you want to?”

“You’re not answering my question.”

“You’re not answering mine!”

“Yes,” she says without a trace of hesitation, “but you need to take your shirt off.”

Soul lets out a far too unmanly whine, but sits up to rip his shirt over his head, tossing it in the vague direction of her bedroom door.  He snorts as he gazes down at Maka.

“What?!”

“You look kinda ridiculous.”

She does.  Her cami is peeled down so that it has settled around her middle like an odd bandage and her skin is reddening in the wake of his teeth.  Soul grins cheekily at her.

Maka sits up with as much dignity as she can muster with her legs still draped around his hips, but yanks her shirt up and away, discarding it without a second glance.  He is impressed by the proud curve of her spine as she smirks up at him.

He leans down again to kiss her, but she shifts away.  “Aupaupaup!” she chides.  She points at his pants.  “Those too.”

Soul stumbles out of her leglock to stand on the floor.  He fumbles with his belt (far too complicated a contraption for what amounts to the teaspoon of blood remaining in his brain) and drops his pants, hooking his thumbs into the waistband of his jeans and boxers.  He stands up again and his dick swings back into place.

Maka giggles, slapping a hand to her mouth.

It is immediately clear that Soul will have survived being sliced in half only to die of embarrassment right there in Maka’s bedroom; there is _no possible worse reaction he could imagine_ (except maybe her shrieking in terror), but there is no malice in her eyes.

“Oh Soul, stop pouting, I’m not laughing at _you_ , I just-- that’s just kinda funny.”

“Funny?”

“Cute?”

“Sexy?”

“Ehhh,” she says, and Soul is almost entirely certain his face is becoming a fire hazard.  “No, but--!  I like it,” and even though she says it in a light-hearted way, it is the most sexual thing she has said to him, and her face quickly catches up to his.  “Come here,” and her tone is unreadable.

Soul clambers back onto the bed, _painfully_ aware of his penis swinging in the air as he moves.  He kneels in front of Maka, and her eyes are riveted on his dick.  Something about the lidded look she is giving him makes him feel a little better.

“Can I?” she asks, and Soul actually bites his tongue a little to make sure he isn’t dreaming.

“Yeah,” he says weakly.

She tentatively closes the gap between them, and he feels her thin fingers wrap gently around his shaft.  “It’s so smooth!” says Maka, but Soul doesn’t respond, knowing he would have absolutely nothing intelligent to add.

Maka takes her time exploring, and Soul decides if he is going to die, at least this is one helluva way to go out.  She is delicate, too much so, but she is thorough, like a scientist inspecting a new species.

But somewhere along the line, something about her playful teasing turns heated, and he manages to choke out, “Harder.”  Pulling at him with not a whole lot of finesse but definitely a whole lot of _amazing_ , she grows bolder.

Maka has always been an overachiever, and she quickly finds the small vein on the underside of his penis that makes him groan.  “You--” but before he can say anymore, Maka sits up straighter, leaning her bare breasts towards his erection.  She gently pulls him towards her and rubs his length across the creamy skin of her chest, passing over each puckered bud.   _Fucking--_

Her skin is so _soft_ , he had no idea it could feel this amazing, holy _shit_ \--   Soul lets out a low moan.

A pressure mounts in his stomach, and he reaches out to stop her.  “Wait, wait, wait, wait-- Maka, wait.”

“What is it?”

“I think it’s your turn,” he mumbles.

She turns her heavy-lidded gaze on him.  “Okay,” she breathes.

They shift awkwardly on the bed, Soul moving towards the foot of the bed, Maka towards the head.  She slides her shorts down her long legs, and Soul vaguely takes note of the fact that her underwear seems a lot more plain than the ones she used to summon him here in the first place.  Probably made sense; maybe she had only one pair of sexy panties.

Maka’s legs are folded, obscuring his view.  “Lemme see?” he asks hoarsely.  She holds his gaze and spreads her thighs.

Websites with a lot of x’s in their urls had taught Soul what to expect in a pretty general sense, but seeing something so completely _Maka_ makes his head spin.  Thin folds surrounded by neat, trim curls are vastly different than anything he’s seen in any porno, and they are infinitely more intimate.  “Can I touch you?” he asks, and _that_ sounds a lot more intimate than he had meant.

“Yes,” she says, and he does.

His fingers slide against her entrance, and goosebumps run up his arm.  As he makes contact with her skin, Maka closes her eyes and lets out a breathy gasp.   _This is really happening_.

Except he has no idea what he’s doing.  He plays gently with the edges of her sex, listening to the noises she makes as he travels (oh, _that_ spot is the one he’d heard about).  Her folds are wet, but he isn’t really an expert on judging whether they are wet enough, until she bucks against his hand and the tip of his index finger slides briefly between her folds.

“Please,” she asks.  “I want…”

A good Weapon _definitely_ listens to his Meister.

Soul watches a finger sink into her, unable to keep his jaw from growing slack.  She lets out a low moan, arching into the bed.  She is slick and warm around his finger.

“Uh--”

“In and out,” she answers for him.

So he slides his finger partway out and watches her twist her fingers into the comforter below.  He pushes back in, and she groans again.

Soon he has built a rhythm (he is a decent musician, after all), but the piano’s got nothing on the sounds Maka makes.  Her stomach muscles flex as she writhes at his touch.  “More,” she pants, and he tries to speed up his movements, but Maka stills him by grabbing his wrist.  “No, I mean another.”

He slides another finger into her sex, knuckle brushing against her clit, which elicits a light gasp from his meister.  Her mouth is parted, open and inviting, and he not so much leans forward as he does fall to kiss her deeply again.

They kiss between her groans, his fingers still heated by her wet folds.

“I have a thing,” he breathes against her cheek.

“What?”

“A thing.  Y’know--”  He scrambles over her and tries to reach for his pants without falling off the bed.  He doesn’t quite succeed, but he catches himself with his hand and fishes his wallet out of his back pocket.  Pawing through it, Soul pulls out a small wrapped package.

“A condom,” she supplies.

“Yeah, that thing.”

Maka studies it for a moment, eyes on the neon purple packaging.  “Okay,” she says.

Soul brings the package to his mouth, but she stops him.  “Stop, Soul!  If you rip it, you completely negate the point of a condom in the first place!”

“Fine,” he says, trying to grab the tiny perforated edge with his admittedly slick fingers.  “Uh, oh wait, is this expired?”

“Is it?” she asks sharply.

“Oh, no, we’re good.”  He manages to rip the package open a little and flicks the small bit of plastic away.  The lubrication causes it to stick to his hand, so he shakes it wildly to dislodge it.  “Okay,” he says, sliding the condom out of the package, “we have to, uh, grab it by the little tip-- aw, shit.”

The condom is also purple.  Soul winces; who _designed_ this shit?

“And then you roll it, right?”

“Yeah,” he replies, resigned to his fate.  Whatever.  If it means he can have sex with his super hot and super willing meister, he’ll suck it up.

Soul manages to roll the condom down the length of his erection without totally losing the last shred of dignity he has (though it’s not easy; the condom takes some getting used to) and turns back to Maka.  She smiles, so he grins back.  He kisses her again, still amazed that he is allowed to do that.

He stops grinning shortly thereafter, because lining up a condom-clad penis is _hard_.  He fumbles around, Maka’s fingers threaded into the hair at the nape of his neck, until she finally says, a little too enthusiastically, “There!”

Soul pushes forward slightly and Maka gasps.  “You okay?”

“Yeah,” she says, “just… not used to it.”

“Okay, just lemme know.”

“I will.”

He glides in, inch by inch, and as he feels the walls of Maka’s pussy tighten around him, he feels almost giddy, because _wow_ did that feel good.  Finally he feels himself fully inside and she lets out a long, low moan.  “Does it hurt?”

“No,” she says, tightening her grip on his hair.  “It feels amazing.”  She wraps her legs around his back again.  “Gimme a minute.”

Soul definitely needs a minute too.  He’d actually like to take several thousand minutes, because feeling surrounded by his meister, his Maka, is probably one of the most incredible feelings ever.

He peppers her shoulders with light kisses, and she says, “Okay, go ahead.”

If he didn’t know what he was doing before, he _definitely_ doesn’t now.  But he starts to move and he hears someone groan loudly, only realizing it was him when Maka giggles lightly and kisses him.

She moves under him, meeting him halfway, every pulse between his legs like an electric shock directly to his brain.  Soul attacks her neck again, tasting the thin sheen of sweat that has broken out across her skin.  Maka is grinding his name between her teeth, occasionally letting slip tiny mewls in his ear.

They are sloppy and sweaty, ungainly and unwieldy, but it seems to be working.  She tugs at his hair, her thighs tight against his sides (how many times had he thought about _that_ when they were flying).  Soul keeps brushing her hair out of the way to have access to her skin.  He feels a small hand slide down his back, and suddenly his ass is firmly in Maka’s grip, and she pulls him in deeper with each thrust.  He kisses her on the mouth, sweat and saliva mixing, the sounds of their wet bodies joining and unjoining, echoing in the tiny bedroom.

Soul feels it start to happen, and he is seeing stars, every single nerve in his body focused on Maka and her hair and her skin and her breasts and her legs and her neck and her pussy and he breaks their kiss to breathe a “ahh _ha_ ” against her skin, his cock twitching in her wet heat, spilling gratefully inside the condom.

He hasn’t fully returned from the stratosphere when Maka begs breathlessly, “No, don’t stop!” so he doesn’t; he starts thrusting again before he loses his erection, and Maka bucks wildly against his hips in desperation, pleading noises in his ear, and Soul briefly wonders if he should try to switch positions or something when he feels the walls of her sex grow loose and then _tight_ , and he watches his meister fall over the edge.  It is by far the sexiest thing he has ever seen in his life, her face red and mouth open in a silent scream.  It is also overwhelming on his sensitive dick, and he groans again as Maka is in the throes of her pleasure.

Wow.

They lie there breathing hard for a few minutes, listening to the other’s heartbeats.  Finally Soul feels his dick start to soften and he hisses as he slides out.

“Ooh, that’s a weird feeling,” Soul murmurs into the crook of Maka’s neck.

“What is?”

“The used condom.  I need to get rid of this, hold on.”

He stands on wobbly legs.  Hobbling over to Maka’s neatly organized desk, he swipes a tissue from the box.  Soul winces as he slides the condom back off and stuffs it in the tissue, depositing it in the small wastebasket below her desk.

He turns around to see Maka sitting up in bed, arm slightly protective across her midsection.  They chuckle weakly as they make eye contact.  Soul ruffles his hair slightly as he watches her redden.

“Well…” he tries to say.

“I…”

They stop and chuckle again.  “I’m glad you thought of this,” Soul says in the lull.  “I had been meaning to say something for a while now, but I’m glad you got us there.”

“What?”

“Y’know, the thing with your panties.”

He watches the smile slowly drip off her face.  “My… panties?”

“Yeah,” Soul says, feeling a tiny rising panic in his chest.  He looks around for his carelessly discarded jacket.  He paws at it and produces the pink panties.  “You put these in my pocket.  To tell me to come have sex with you.”

Maka looks horrified.  “You think I gave you my underwear?”

“You didn’t?”

“No!” she yells shrilly.  “Soul!  I was looking for those!  I thought they got lost in the washing machine downstairs, but they must have ended up in your pocket when I washed your jacket!  Don’t you know how laundry works?!  Soul--”

Soul feels a terrible fear grip his heart, not because of his utter lack of understanding about how laundry works nor about how Maka might try to kill him, but because he can see the walls forming behind her eyes, the panic she is feeling building a barrier between him and her heart--

“No, wait!” he shouts, and he is reminded very forcefully that he is naked, standing in the late afternoon sunlight.  But if he’s already naked, he might as well bare all.  “Okay, Maka, look, I’m an idiot, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t want this or I was trying to take advantage or anything!  Maka, I wanted this.  Want this.  I want you.  I love you.”

He knows there is a tone of desperation in his voice, a plea for her to understand, but he doesn’t care, because he will not screw this up any farther.  Soul puts a hand on his chest, clasping the scar that cut across his body; Maka follows the movement with her eyes.  “I, uh, yeah.  I love you.  Not just as friends, or partners, or whatever.  I… enjoyed this.  Uh, obviously.  But I want it because I want to be with you.  And I’m sorry I screwed this up, but if you give me a chance, I’ll make it right, I’ll take you to dinner or get you flowers or whatever you want, just… just don’t… shut me out.”

Her dark green eyes meet his and her arm slowly loosens where she is clutching her own skin.  “You mean that?” she asks quietly.  “You love me?”

He shifts from foot to foot, but answers steadily.  “Yeah.”

Maka smiles, really smiles, and Soul allows a relieved grin to spread across his features.  “I… love you too, Soul.”  She bites her lip, and oh no, that is way too endearing to be legal.  “Come… come back to bed.  We can discuss dinner plans.”

Soul chuckles and slides onto the slightly damp sheets, kissing her softly on the mouth.  “Deal.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> I came up with this idea way back in May, but only finally got around to polishing it off. I'm so glad it's finally done! I had a lot of help from Livi, Marsh, Odat, RDH, Ash, and Ivali, so big thanks to them!


End file.
